


Draco Malfoy and the Stupid Scarhead

by NineOfSpades



Series: Draco Malfoy and [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen, I think that's all I need to warn for, Let me know if there's anything else I need to tag, descriptions of death, implied classism, mild violence, political corruption
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 04:42:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9641201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NineOfSpades/pseuds/NineOfSpades
Summary: They were the first people you’d suspect of being involved in anything strange or mysterious, and the last people you’d accuse of said involvement, because they just didn’t hold with such nonsense, and neither did the Wizengamot members whose votes they’d purchased.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm old-fashioned, so here's my disclaimer: I'm not J.K. Rowling, I don't own the series, no profiteering is happening (that you can prove), etc. Don't sue me. I don't have money.

          Lord and Lady Malfoy of Malfoy Manor, Bonnefoi Ave., were proud to say that they were far from ordinary, thank you _very_ kindly. They were the first people you’d suspect of being involved in anything strange or mysterious, and the last people you’d accuse of said involvement, because they just didn’t hold with such nonsense, and neither did the Wizengamot members whose votes they’d purchased.

  
           The Malfoys had most of the things they wanted, and could often find ways of getting the things they didn’t. They had many secrets, but the only one they were actively ashamed of was one that had never really been a secret. Everyone knew about the Tonks’s. Mrs. Tonks was Lady Malfoy’s sister, but they hadn’t met for several years; in fact, Lady Malfoy pretended she didn’t have a younger sister, because Andromeda and her filthy Muggle husband were a stark contrast to the Pureblooded perfection of the two Noble lines that had joined when Narcissa, of the Noble and Moste Ancient House of Black, married Lucius, of the Noble and Merely Somewhat Ancient House of Malfoy. A thousand witches, wizards, and magic-users too cool for the gender binary had attended the ceremony, the only thousand that the happy couple had deigned to grace with an invitation after months of discussion. They’d eventually decided to add old Cornelius Fudge to the list after consulting with their astrologer, who had admitted to a (very slight) chance of the man succeeding to the position of Minister of Magic. The ballroom in Grimmauld Place had been opened for the reception, just enough to provide exactly one thousand people with comfortable seating, so that those who hadn’t been invited but were still useful for political favors could avoid feeling snubbed. 

  
           The Malfoys had a small son named Draco and in their opinion there was no finer boy anywhere. But his conception happened well after the reception, though not for lack of trying.

  
           The first Arcturus-Black-Malfoy was born a year after the wedding, which was just as well, for the Notts already had a daughter, and the timing ensured that their heirs would attend Hogwarts in the same year. Sadly, the child caught pneumonia two days after it was born, and died a week later. Narcissa didn’t leave her chambers for days, until she composed herself well enough to endure the sympathy of the friends, family, and political connections she encountered on a daily basis.

  
           The second potential heir was a stillborn. Narcissa laughed helplessly when she saw it, then cried herself to sleep for a week.

  
           Carina Bellatrix Malfoy was two months premature – Narcissa went into labor in the foyer, and Lucius dropped everything and flooed the midwives to get there immediately. He then moved her to the Rose Bedroom, because ladies of noble birth did not give birth in the guest area, and, while he could not have cared less himself, Narcissa would never have forgiven him. The event of the century occurred immediately following the delivery of the stunted, sickly baby, which saw the Head of the House of Malfoy desperately taking instructions from a group of midwives of uncertain blood status. Together, they set up a magical apparatus to help the child breathe properly and perform the basic functions of life, and Lucius drained himself to the point of magical exhaustion filling its supply of energy.

  
           They waited three tense, uncertain weeks, decided to postpone the Christening for a month in case Carina didn’t survive her early arrival, checking on her every hour to recharge her support device, or make sure she was as comfortable as she could be. During those three weeks, Lucius climbed the ranks of the Death Eaters, which Narcissa most certainly did not know about, thank you, and how dare you imply, all politeness and icy smiles and veiled threats in public, frantic queries and arguments behind closed doors, _we have a child now can’t you want a few years to stroke your ego_ , and _there’s a war going on do you really think it’ll stop and wait for our daughter to grow up…_

  
           The crux of the matter was that Lucius was a zealot, and Narcissa couldn’t drag him back from the path he’d already started on. It wasn't that she disagreed with the blood purists; rather, she felt that committing so thoroughly brought more danger than it was worth. Lady Zabini was expecting, and staying out of the confrontation until a clear victor emerged before she pledged her loyalties. Narcissa, on the other hand, couldn’t afford to stay out; once committed, you were sworn to Voldemort for the rest of your life. No one had ever defected and survived the Dark Lord’s wrath and her husband had pledged himself before he was old enough to know better.

  
           Despite the votes they’d bought, the Wizengamot decided to authorize warrantless armed searches and seizures, and everyone with ties to the side not yet in control lived in either terror or mild unease that grew stronger with every search and seizure. Zabini, despite her lack of affiliation, was being held in custody for a day because of an old cursed skull they’d found in her attic, and before they released her they arrived unannounced at the homes of some dozen purebloods – all purebloods were inherently suspect; they’d all but declared that during the warrantless searches ruling a few days prior – including Malfoy Manor. They tromped through the halls, muddying marble floors with their boots, overturning furniture and smashing priceless antiques, scanning the area for strong magical auras. Narcissa heard the alarm and excused herself from her luncheon with Lady Nott, splinching just-manicured fingernails off in her haste, rushing up the stairs to the nursery, arriving just in time to see a group of Aurors following the magical resonance of Carina’s life-supporting device. Carina was crying at the noise, lungs struggling for air through windpipes constricted with her panic. Her mother flew forward, hair flying, all dignity forgotten, desperately pleading with them not to touch it, and a stony-faced Auror turned and glared at her, you think we’re stupid, let you set off an explosion on our heads or curse our families, and blasted the device apart with his wand, and Narcissa saw through the blur of tears her daughter struggle to draw breath for long, agonizing seconds, lips turning blue, and she’d pulled out her wand to blast him to smithereens, tear out his heart with the Darkest curses she knew, and the other Aurors had wrestled her to the floor, continuing their search until they were satisfied that they hadn’t found anything dangerous.

  
           Narcissa destroyed the man politically, drove his family into millions of Galleons of debt, and eventually had him arrested and convicted of smuggling Dark Magic artifacts after carefully wining and dining the Heads of various Departments, but it didn’t bring her child back, and nothing ever would.

  
           If it hadn’t been for years of being raised to be the perfect Pureblood wife, and the knowledge ingrained deeper than a sense of self that Pureblooded lines needed heirs, Draco would never have been born. As it was, their son was Christened Draco Lucius Arcturus Black Malfoy in front of five hundred of their friends, family, and allies, under defenses too strong for Dumbledore himself to penetrate. He was younger than the rest of the next generation of Purebloods, but just old enough to join Hogwarts the same year as the most plentiful crop of heirs thus far – the Parkinsons’ heir, though the Parkinsons’s status wasn’t quite high enough for their daughter to be an acceptable match for the heir to both the Black and Malfoy fortunes; the Greengrass’s daughter; Lady Zabini’s son; and the second Nott boy – plenty of options depending on which way their son swung (homophobia was for Muggles, and those equally narrow-minded, although said possibility would necessitate that their son take a Pureblood mistress to continue his line, in which case the Parkinson girl was an option). The situation was ideal, but far from the Malfoys’ minds as they looked down at their son, swaddled in silk blankets, staring groggily back up at them. He was a beautiful boy, in Narcissa’s completely unbiased opinion, with a tuft of the finest blond hair covering his head, brilliant grey eyes, and the most adorable pout.

  
           “He’s alive,” she murmured, trepidation a slight tremor in her voice, her son’s tiny fingers tangled in a lock of her hair.

  
           Lucius smiled wearily. “Let us hope he remains that way.”

  
           “If he does,” she declared, “I will give him everything he could possibly desire. I’ll lay out the world for him on a golden platter.”

  
           Lucius shook his head. “You’ll spoil him” – a protest completely devoid of any heart – “if he’s to understand how to live in this world, he’ll have to learn that not everything can come to him so easily.”

  
           The baby’s face twisted with consternation, and it rubbed at its eye with a tiny fist. His father laughed.

  
           “I suppose you don’t like the sound of that. Still, I’ll be enforcing it,” he said, aware that he was lying as soon as the words left his mouth.

  
           The baby scowled at him.

  
           “Draco Malfoy,” his mother whispered, smoothing his hair. “The Boy Who Lived.”

  
           Ten months later, that title would be stripped from him, on account of a Boy Who Lived whose parents didn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> Original summary, for those who have the British version with Dumbledore on the back cover: 
> 
> Draco Malfoy thinks he's going to be the most pandered-to boy in Hogwarts - until his thunder is stolen by an orphan without an inkling of his past, who seems set on annoying Draco as much as humanly possible. The Reason: HARRY POTTER IS A WIZARD! 
> 
> His father will hear about this. 
> 
>  
> 
> I do have part of chapter two written, but, fair warning - I'm pretty inconsistent about updating, so it might be a few weeks before the next chapter(s) shows up.


End file.
